Puppet
by Hanyou-Kyo
Summary: The puppet never hurt. The puppet never cried. Just smile, smile. Keep up the mask, never let anyone see what is true. And surely the puppet would have remained so forevermore, had it not been for HIM. KuroxFai
1. The boy

/Notes/ So I love the idea of puppets in fiction, recently discovered Tsubasa and of course Fai and Kurogane, thus this was born. Expect lots of angst. By the way the chapters are small because originally this was a one shot, but I felt that to create a better pace sections were best seperated. Enjoy! ^_^

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><p><em>I am a puppet…<em>

_See my fine golden hair?_

_My sculptured face?_

_My porcelain skin so fair?_

_I am a puppet…_

_I never hurt or cry_

_I'm whatever you wish me_

_But my painted smile is a lie _

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><p>Crafted and carved, polished and shaped. Every curve was smooth, every angle sharp, every stroke of paint was bold and elegant. He was the very definition of perfection, with a soft easy smile and merry, forget-me-not eyes. Yes, he was the perfect doll.<p>

The perfect puppet.

Crowds flocked like moths to flame in order to watch him, to see him perform. He never disappointed, his show was spectacular! Oh how he danced, how he sang and moved! How he could draw you in, looking in the afternoon sun like an angel crowned with a golden halo. He was impossible to resist, so cheeky and teasing, so chipper and good humoured!

What a charming fellow! The crowds would cry.

Oh my, how handsome! The ladies would coo.

Mummy he's amazing! Children would shout.

Indeed they loved him, a love that he seemed to return with glee. He would shower them with smiles, with waves and bows. But the crowds were misled spectacularly, for never once did they glimpse the puppet's true face behind his ever permanent mask.

They never once… glimpsed his strings. Only _he _felt them.

Only _he _felt the tugs, the pulling, the _orders_. Only _he_ knew his will was not his own, that somewhere close behind there was always a puppeteer lurking, manipulating his every move. A puppeteer he knew well, all too well.

So he continued on in this way, acting and smiling, laughing and dancing. He repressed all emotion and thought, leaving nothing but an empty shell with a ghost of a smile tipping his lips. But what else was he to do? What else _could _he do? His puppeteer was his creator, the only solid thing he could latch onto in this large, frightening world. And, though he was loathed to admit it, he was bound to his puppeteer by more than just strings. Other, more binding things kept him obedient and quiet, and it was those bindings that scared him more than anything else.

Hope long since abandoned to crumble into ash, the puppet resigned himself to a world of pretend. And surely that was what he would have experienced forevermore, had it not been for _that _day.

That day, when the puppet met _him_.

**Oo0oO**

The village was alive with life.

Merry voices of men and women with tummies full to the brim with rum filled the warm, summer air. Deep within the village a tavern was having a busy night, alcohol overflowing and piping hot food sizzling, creating tantalizing aromas of sweet beef, tender ham, creamy potatoes and crispy roast vegetables. It was a night filled with loud laughter and rosy cheeks, it was a night for rejoicing and celebration.

It was a night the puppet was to be left on his own.

The small caravan he and his puppeteer called home stood on the edge of town. Its wooden front was painted cheerful colours of leaf greens, baby blues and petal pinks, and its windows were drawn with lace curtains to give it a homely, quaint feel. It was all apart of the show, for the inside was not nearly as bright as the outside portrayed. In fact, it wasn't bright at all.

The puppet was sitting on the window ledge, long legs swaying and hair fluttering in the soft breeze. He could hear snippets of merriment and music travelling from the town, boisterous and mismatched against the peaceful silence settled over the forest behind the caravan. Still the puppet didn't mind, he found it strangely comforting.

The door swung open suddenly, revealing his puppeteer dressed in his usual attire of a dramatic, sweeping cloak. It was a sheet of shadow clinging to his form, trimmed with ribbons of silver. His hair was long and dark as a brush of ink, pulled at the moment into a loose ponytail. It swished like a whisper as he drew a pouch from his cloak. He began to leaf through the content, coins jingling like bells.

"I'm going out for a bit." he announced, petting Karma's soft nose.

Karma was his mare, which at the moment was munching happily away on the hay hanging in the rope basket attached to the side of the caravan. The puppet was offered no such affection.

"Protect the caravan." the puppeteer ordered, snapping his fingers with a burst of magic to tie the puppet's strings to the caravan door. Then the puppeteer strolled away, his long boots crunching as leather met gravel. He walked until his shoes met cobbles, and kept going and going until he was nothing but a faint figure in the distance.

Soon, the puppet was left alone.

He wasn't sure how to pass the time, it wasn't often he left his puppeteer's side. It wasn't often he was_ aloud_ to be left alone. Yet here he was, staring at the darkening sky, fiery oranges and reds mingling with pastel pinks like strokes of paint. So he decided to do one of the only things he was capable, he began to sing. It was soft and even, light as a feather and soaring just as high as a bird. The puppet wasn't sure it was his voice, he sang as it suited his puppeteer, but it was something to do.

Eventually the song dipped into silence, and it was then he became aware of the rustling coming from his left. He turned around sharply, his puppeteer's order forcing his legs to spring into action. _Protect the caravan_. His stiff joints clicked and clacked as he sped towards the disturbance, towards the _figure_ crouched in the bushes. The strings binding him stretched painfully. He slid to a stop just before his feet hit the undergrowth, causing the crouched figure to jump back into the shadows in surprise.

"Who goes there?" the puppet called, stepping forward to get a better look at the offender. What he found… was not what he expected.

A young boy, no older than twelve or thirteen, sat in the undergrowth. Scrapes and cuts marred his slightly tanned skin, and his clothing was torn in several places. His hair was midnight black, cropped in such a way that dark spikes stuck up at all angles. Strands of it fell in front of his wide eyes which, upon closer inspection, were a startling blood red. The puppet felt his usual smile click into place, hiding all true emotion. If the intruder was just a child, then that meant he may bring custom in the form of parents. The puppeteer would not be happy to discover the puppet had scared such custom off.

"Did you want to hear me sing little boy?" the puppet asked.

The boy recovered quickly, standing up to glare at the puppet with a face like thunder. "Hell no!" he snarled. "Who would want to listen to that soppy crap!" he cried indignantly, though he cheeks were stained a light pink.

The puppet felt his eyebrows rise slightly in surprise at the course language escaping such a young boy's lips. "Oh? Then what were you doing?" he asked, an edge of amusement creeping into his voice.

The boy blinked. He opened his mouth to speak, only to snap it shut again. His cheeks flared a little brighter.

The puppet felt real amusement curl his lips. "So you _were _listening?"

Anger boiled the boy's blood, turning his eyes demonic. "No I wasn't you idiot! Listen to what people tell you!" he raged.

The puppet didn't realise it, but he was enjoying himself. He was enjoying the reactions he was provoking, he was enjoying the faces this child was making. The true, _honest_ faces. But, though enjoying himself, the puppet found that a slight shiver of irritation ran up his spine at the same time. This boy, this boy was everything he was not, every thing he could _never _be. He was open about his emotions, about his displeasure. And though the boy had only uttered two sentences, the puppet was sure the boy was just as open about all of his emotions around the clock.

It was _that _thought that caused irritation.

"What's your name?" the puppet asked.

The boy's eyes narrowed suspiciously, turning into two slits of shimmering crimson. "Kurogane." He grunted.

"Kurogane, hm? If you weren't listening to my singing, then what are you doing in the forest all on your own at such a late hour?" the puppet asked.

Kurogane averted his gaze away from the puppet's perfect face, instead fixing it on Karma. She neighed softly, pawing at the ground.

"None of your damn business." Kurogane muttered.

The puppet had a sudden idea, a sudden longing to tease and torment. Anything to gain another reaction, to provoke anger. "Aw come on tell me! Don't be a grump Kuro-pin!" he cried in a childish voice. Usually the women went gaga for that voice.

Kurogane spluttered, shades of red running up his neck from rage and embarrassment. "W-what did you just call me!" he shouted.

The puppet spun on his heel, chanting, "Kuro-pin, Kuro-chan, Kuro-pon, Kuro-sama! All hail Kuro-sama!"

"Don't call me weird names you psycho!" Kurogane yelled.

The puppet crumpled his face in disappointment, acting as flawlessly as ever. "But it's cute, just like Kuro-chi!" he cried.

There was a distinct _snap _as Kurogane's patience reached its limits. His shoulders shuddered with repressed rage. "Call. Me. That. One. More. Time. And I'll kill you." He promised, each syllable dripping with menace.

A pleased, knowing smile appeared on the puppet's face. "Call you what _Kuro-tan_?" he asked, innocently.

With a shout of rage Kurogane sprung forward, arms whipping out to grab the blonde imbecile, preferably around the neck. But the blonde imbecile was surprisingly fast, _very_ fast. He dogged the younger boy's grasp and took off running, laughing all the way. Kurogane followed him, a battle cry escaping his lips.

"Get back here!" he shouted.

"Uh oh Kuro-chan's mad, help me Karma!" the puppet chuckled.

Karma merely shook her mane with a disapproving shudder, before returning quietly to her meal as Kurogane chased the puppet wildly around the caravan, shouting obscurities all the while.

The puppet laughed properly for the first time in a very long time.

**Oo0oO**

Kurogane collapsed to the floor, wheezing and panting. Sweat shone as a sticky sheen over his skin, slick and glossy in the gathering darkness. He was exhausted, but he still managed to muster the best possible scowl he could to direct at a certain someone hiding up a tree.

"What's the matter Kuro-myuu, are you tired already?" the puppet called down.

A growl bubbled up Kurogane's throat. "Chi, go to hell moron! And it's Kurogane! You hear? Ku-ro-ga-ne!" he spat.

The puppet jumped elegantly down from his perch, landing as nimbly as a cat. His joints jangled a bit. He plopped down next to Kurogane, wrapping an arm around his leg and leaning his chin upon his knee. He smiled broadly.

"You're fast for someone so young," he commented.

_Be as friendly as possible, wheel the customers in to the best of your ability. _The puppeteer's voice raced through his head, reminding him of his obligation, of his _duty_.

Smile.

Be friendly.

Never show your true face.

"You know Kuro-chi if you want to hear me sing, just come to my show! We'd have lots of fun together I'm sure!" he said with delight.

There was a long beat of silence.

Kurogane's eyes slid to the left, landing on the puppet's face. They travelled slowly down the puppet's arm to his wrist, and then to both of his ankles. The puppet didn't move a muscle, smiling that idiotic smile. After about five minutes Kurogane stood, and began walking unceremoniously back towards the woods. He didn't even glance over his shoulder as he spoke,

"Impossible. I'd never come to your show. I hate grownups like you."

The puppet froze. "Eh?" was the only noise his throat seemed to produce.

Kurogane paused, scarlet eyes fixing momentarily on the puppet's confused, but still smiling face. "Guys like you are better off dead." He said.

Then he left, leaving unknowingly in his wake a small seed. A small seed in the puppet's heart that would eventually bloom. But for now, both the puppet and the boy parted completely unaware that such an event had taken place.

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><p>Fin~ Like, hate? Review! :3<p> 


	2. Understanding

/Notes/ Fai is quite hard to write and keep just right, I hope I did an ALRIGHT job. *sweatdrops* Enjoy ^_^

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><p><strong>Oo0oO<strong>

A bumble bee buzzed lazily in the air, fuzzy yellow and black striped body shuddering slightly. The puppet watched as it landed gracefully on a cluster of Bouvardia buds. Bouvardia flowers were a common occurrence this far south, for the puppet had spotted several shrubs in and around the village. They were easily recognizable, with their light pink clusters of upturned bell like flowers. They had a nice smell too.

The bee travelled from flower to flower, collecting the sweet nectar from each. The puppet followed its movements with disinterest, his thoughts elsewhere. It was morning and yet the puppeteer had not returned home, which meant the puppet had nothing to do but think. And every thought that crossed his mind, concerned Kurogane's parting words.

_Guys like you are better off dead._

Was it true? Probably so, for the puppet did not consider following a person's every command a life. He didn't much care to protect himself either, if harm were to come to him the puppet doubted he would to anything to prevent it. He had no desire to live, he just _was_. But that was no life.

That was _existing._

His train of thought was interrupted abruptly by the crunch of gravel and the tripping of feet. He glanced up quickly to find his puppeteer stumbling drunkenly to the caravan, his cloak ruffled and his hair now loose and tangled. He groaned loudly, bleary, bloodshot eyes squinting at the puppet.

"Make sure to feed Karma," he muttered sullenly, before disappearing into the caravan.

The puppet inclined his head. "Sure," he chirped.

But the puppeteer was long gone, undoubtedly climbing into bed this very minute to spend the day nursing a nasty hangover. Merriment comes with a price after all, and the puppet would bet a thousand pounds half the village was in a similar position to his puppeteer.

The puppet strolled over to Karma to refill her rope basket as he was instructed, and then resettled himself on his perch. His eyelids drooped slightly.

"Perhaps some sleep would do me good too…" The puppet wondered aloud.

It wasn't necessary he sleep, but the puppet found that it soothed him, and left him with a content feeling in the pit of his gut. Besides, in sleep, thoughts of a certain dark haired boy could be avoided with ease. So he closed his eyes, and allowed oblivion to sweep him away, the faint buzzing of a bee being the last thing the puppet heard.

**Oo0oO**

He awoke with a start to clanging.

Metal screeched against metal, banging and ringing throughout the forest. Repeatedly the steady rhythm sounded, and with each jarring clash and bang, the puppet felt his interest grow. What was making the noise? _Who_ was making the noise? The puppet felt curiosity churn inside of him, burning like an unreachable itch. He glanced at the caravan door, wondering if his puppeteer would notice him gone for just a few minutes. But he couldn't leave his puppeteer's side without permission could he, should he?

_Guys like you are better off dead._

The puppet fisted his hands. He'd prove Kurogane wrong. Just this once, just in this town on this day, the puppet decided to live a little.

He swung his legs around silently, tiptoeing cautiously to the edge of the forest. He felt his strings (still tied to the caravan) tug at his back, trying to make him reconsider, shouting at him to turn back.

The puppet ignored them.

He kept going.

On and on he went, feeling lighter and lighter with each step. Was this what it was like to fly? The puppet surely thought so, for any minute now it felt like he'd float right off the surface of the earth. Oh to fly, wouldn't that be a dream? How the puppet would love that, to feel the rush of air beneath his feet.

The clanging metal was getting louder now, more pronounced and clear. The puppet swatted away branches and shrubs, eyes scanning the greenery. The trees began to thin the deeper the puppet ventured, and eventually they dispersed altogether, leaving a round clearing bare to the world. The puppet took a small step over the edge of the clearing, sucking in a sharp breath at the sight before him.

It was Kurogane.

He was dressed in a strange robe of sorts, thick and layered with wooden sandal shoes upon his feet. A deadly looking sword was grasped in his hands, a harsh, sharp sweep of silver. He struck a wooden dummy repeatedly with the weapon, grunts of efforts bubbling up his throat, sweat pouring off his skin. The puppet understood now why the boy had so many cuts and bruises, it was caused by training. _Vigorous _training by the looks of it.

Unconsciously the puppet moved further forward, alerting Kurogane to his presence. The boy spun around, charging at the puppet with such speed and ferocity, that the puppet stumbled back against a tree instinctively. The tip of Kurogane's sword dug into his throat.

"Kuro-chan! Is that anyway to greet a friend?" the puppet sang with a smile.

Surprise flickered across Kurogane's face as he recognized the blonde figure before him. A frown sprinkled across his brow. "You're no friend of mine." He said, but removed his sword nonetheless.

The puppet produced a convincing pout. "Kuro-run is such a meanie!" he cried.

But Kurogane wasn't listening, or at the very least wasn't paying attention. He moved to the middle of the clearing once more, slipping into a battle stance. He breathed deep breaths, moving and shifting until his centre of balance was just right. Kurogane brought his sword up, eyes still closed, and pointed it at the dummy. Yes, that was it, this was the time to strike! Kurogane curled his toes in anticipation, his eyes flashed open, a smile appeared on his lips, he sprang forward and-

"Kuro-bun why is your sword shaped funny?"

Kurogane tripped spectacularly.

"Uh oh, watch your feet Kuro-chuu!"

A feral sound of pure anger ripped from Kurogane's throat. He was standing in an instant, glaring up at the puppet's angelic face. He was about a head and a half shorter than the puppet, but that didn't put him off in the slightest. He merely stood on his tiptoes, gripping the puppet's collar to yank him down to eyelevel.

"You bloody fool! What kind of an idiot are you? Get lost and let me concentrate!" he shouted.

Amusement was plainly written across the puppet's face. "Awwww, but I want to watch my Kuro-mu in action!" he piped.

Kurogane released his shirt with a disgusted hiss. "I don't recall being _yours_, and it's Kurogane!"

This time when he moved the puppet followed him, his eyes resting on Kurogane's sword with obvious interest.

"I've never seen a sword like that before." The puppet said.

Kurogane grunted. "It's a Kanata; it was forged in my homeland so I'm not surprised you haven't seen one."

The puppet felt a slight frown pucker his brow. "But I've travelled to many places Kuro-sama, and I've _never _seen one like that." he insisted, sounding like a stubborn child. Really, if someone were to be listening they would think the_ puppet_ was the child in place of Kurogane.

Kurogane felt a smile curl his lips. Having found something he knew all about, and something the puppet did not, made a small feeling of victory bloom in his chest. A petty victory maybe, but where the puppet was concerned it hardly mattered.

"My homeland is far away over seas." He explained knowingly.

The puppet raised an amused eyebrow. "Is that so? Did you train there too?"

Kurogane nodded. "And I'd like to continue training, so buzz off. It's hard enough training without a sparring partner, never mind with an annoying twit twittering away in my ear."

A grin lit up the puppet's face, enlightenment setting his sapphire eyes alight with inspiration. "Oh I know! I'll be Kuro-chan's partner! It'll be-"

"No."

"… because you hate people like me?"

"…"

The puppet smirked. "Or are you scaredI'll beat you, _Kuro-tan_?"

Kurogane's head whipped around as quick as lightening. "_Whose _scared? I'm not scared of anything, bring it on idiot and I'll crush you into the dirt!" he snapped.

The puppet wore a strange expression. Was it a sneer? No, no it wasn't that. It wasn't nervous or fearful either… maybe…

Confidence.

It was confidence.

_He's got that look, _Kurogane thought. _The look… Sensei used to wear. This fool can't really fight can he?_

The puppet positioned himself opposite Kurogane. He was completely relaxed as he stood, arms by his side and a smile on his lips. His eyes were even closed! Kurogane eyed him up like a piece of meat, shifting into a crouched, ready position. His sword clanked as it was lifted level to Kurogane's hip, tip pointed down.

"Ready?" he grunted.

The puppet waved his arms playfully in the air. "Ready, ready Kuro-rii!"

Kurogane shot off with a growl. He fainted right and then struck left, coming up from below to take a sweep at the puppet's legs. But the metal never connected. The puppet leapt into the air seconds after the blade swished beneath him, smiling down at Kurogane. Kurogane followed him up into the air, Kanata raised again. He used the burst of speed to spin behind the puppet, hoping to confuse him with his ninja skills. But once again the puppet avoided his swift attack, landing perfectly on his feet.

Kurogane hissed in rage. He began slashing at the puppet, hoping to overwhelm him with speed. But every stroke of metal, every kick and punch was avoided perfectly by the puppet. He twisted his body this way and that, performing achromatic swivels and flips. Kurogane couldn't touch him, couldn't nail him down. The puppet was unlike any opponent he had ever come across. His style was all dodging, avoiding any and all contact.

Kurogane hated it.

He hated the cowardice this style screamed. He hated the puppet's smiling face, the effortless way in which he ran from all of his problems.

"FACE ME LIKE A MAN YOU DAMN PUPPET!" he exploded.

The puppet faltered, endlessly blue eyes going wide as saucers. Kurogane was in front of him in an instant, landing a punch to his porcelain white face. The puppet flew backwards, hitting the ground with a _thud_. But the pain did not even register in the puppet's mind, he was too busy staring up at a panting Kurogane in amazement. He sat up slowly, adjusting his expression so that it carefully showed amused disinterest.

Smile.

Be friendly.

Never show your true face.

"What are you talking about Kuro-ron?" he asked, carefully keeping his voice light and neutral.

Kurogane scowled in disgust. "You know what I'm talking about! Running away like some damn little girl, fight properly!" he retorted harshly.

The puppet fought a frown. "Aw come on, my fighting style isn't that bad… though I suppose I do look like a puppet when I bend in all those ways right?" there was an unmistakable edge to the puppet's voice. This boy couldn't _know_… could he? The magic enchanting him should stop any and all from seeing his strings, unless the boy had been exposed to magic. _Strong_ magic.

Kurogane snorted. "Lying now? I know just what you are."

The puppet's voice was quiet. "And what is that?"

Kurogane slashed at a nearby tree in anger, cutting it plain in two. "You're the kind of grownup I hate most. What kind of a life is following someone else's orders against your will? Do you enjoy being made a fool? Do you enjoy prancing around village to village like a dancing twit? Do you enjoy _the strings that bind you?"_

The question echoed around the clearing… ebbing into silence.

"You can see them, can you Kuro-min?" the puppet asked, slowly, icily.

The puppet's eyes were now hard, harder than any stone Kurogane had ever seen in his life. Gone was the merry amusement, leaving only two pools of ice. A shiver crept up Kurogane's spine.

"You shouldn't be able to see them Kuro-pon, how long _have _you been able to see them?" the puppet asked cheerfully.

Kurogane swallowed, refusing to be afraid. This person in front of him was a fool and nothing more, he was nothing to fear. Besides Kurogane wasn't afraid of anything.

"Chi, since I first saw you tied to that damn caravan, the same caravan you're still tied to." He answered, the anger he felt before resurfacing slightly in his tone.

The puppet wove a smile onto his face. "Is that right? And that's the reason you hate me?"

Kurogane nodded once, seeing an opportunity to reveal this puppet's true character. There was a deadly aura surrounding the blonde puppet, an aura so menacing it would put off the bravest of the brave from approaching the puppet. But Kurogane wasn't afraid of anything, and he wanted to pull that mask from the puppet's face. He wanted to see real emotion, real reactions. He hated falsity, it reminded him too much of painful memories. It reminded him too much of… it didn't matter any more. All that mattered was erasing reminders of it, and tearing down the puppet's mask would achieve just that.

"People like you are despicable, going around like bloody lapdogs, where's your pride?"

The puppet bent his head, effectively covering his eyes with strands of his blonde fringe. "What's wrong with that?" he asked.

"Eh?" Kurogane grunted.

"What's wrong with it? What's wrong with obeying? I'm not hurting anybody, and I am what I am."

Kurogane narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "You're lying again," he stated, moving closer.

The puppet let out a pathetic excuse for a chuckle. "Don't be silly Kuro-Pyo, I never lie." He said with forced cheeriness.

When had it gotten so hard to act?

"You're sure your not lying?"

"Yep, I'm as sure as can be!"

"Then, if you're not hurting anyone," Kurogane stared up at the puppet's face, having silently knelt down beside him. "Why are you crying?"

The puppet started with a jolt. A hand snaked up to touch the tip of his finger to a trail of wet, salty water. A bitter laugh left his throat.

"Just some dust in my eye, I'll be fine in a minute, promise Kuro-tan." He croaked, still smiling despite the sorrow staining his face.

Kurogane turned to face away from the puppet. He pulled a cloth from the inside of his strange inner robe, and began meticulously cleaning his Kanata. His face was uncharacteristically blank. "Take as long as you need… idiot."

**Oo0oO**

The puppet lay on his back, staring up at the blue sky dotted with clouds. He wondered whether or not he should be getting back. If his puppeteer woke up to find him gone there'd be hell to pay. But seeing the state the puppeteer was in this morning the puppet wouldn't be surprised if his master stayed in bed all day.

Besides, the puppet didn't particularly want to go back.

After their argument both Kurogane and the puppet had lapsed into a comfortable silence, the only noises to be heard being the rustling of forest life and the cleaning of Kurogane's sword. He was very intense about the matter, the puppet noticed. Kurogane handled it with great care, surprisingly being very gentle with the blade. _He must really love it_, the puppet thought. His eyes slid to the crimson eyed boy. _And he sure knows how to use it too._

"Kuro-pan, who taught you how to use a sword?" the puppet asked.

Kurogane went rigid. "What's it matter to you?" He muttered.

The puppet sat up, crossing his legs. He leant his chin on his hand and gave Kurogane a very sly, very knowing look. His smile was infuriatingly sweet.

"So you're allowed to nose around in my life, but I'm not allowed to do the same?" the puppet waved his arms childishly. "That's not fair Kuro-pin!" he cired.

Kurogane paused in his cleaning, silently glaring at the sleek silver metal. The breath he took was deep and shaky. "Sensei taught me… my father." He answered at length.

The puppet blinked at Kurogane's tone, all the teasing and childish remarks he had lined up and ready to go dying on his tongue in an instant. "Did he bring you here?"

Kurogane shook his head, gripping his robe. For the first time since the puppet had met Kurogane, he finally looked like a little boy. A very sad little boy.

"My uncle's a blacksmith, he's here on business. I'm his apprentice." He said.

"A blacksmith hmmm? No wonder Kuro-chan's so buff!"

Kurogane's eyebrow twitch in irritation. "And what about _you_? What are you doing singing and dancing in the village like a buffoon for that cloaked guy?" he asked, angrily.

The puppet looked off into the distance. "I didn't know you'd actually seen my performance Kuro-rin," the puppet said distractedly. "… and it's very complicated Kuronpu, I have many ties to that man." He said.

Kurogane stood furiously. "It's not complicated at all!" he said. "Do you like being a puppet?"

The puppet glanced at him, his expression still far away and dreamy. "… No, I don't suppose I do."

"Then _do_ something about it!" Kurogane shouted.

The puppet looked pained. "It's not that simple."

"TO HELL IT ISN'T!"

Kurogane caught the puppet by his shirt, a sense of déjà vu overcoming him. The puppet stared unflinchingly into Kurogane's eyes, blue clashing with red.

"If you don't like it, change it! Don't just sit there and take it! Face up to your problems, you _can't run forever_!" Kurogane burst.

"But the strings-"

"Cut them! If something's in your way, push it off your path with all of your might, if something is holding you back, cut off all attachments! Don't just take it," he repeated, his hands shuddering. "Because just taking abuse will leave you broken and dead, no matter how strong you are."

The puppet studied Kurogane's face carefully. "Kuro-lan, why are you so adamant about this?"

Kurogane visibly flinched, backing away from the puppet as though a snake had just bitten him. He was shaking now, from head to toe. Tears were pooling and there was nothing he could do to retain them. The puppet realized now just what a scared little boy Kurogane was.

"Your song reminded me of someone," He began shakily. "She used to sing a lot. She was my…my mother. Someone used her, now she's dead. They used her like a lifeless doll, manipulating her magic. That's why I can't stand people like you! You'll just end up like her!" he said, trying and failing to keep his voice steady.

The puppet watched as Kurogane struggled to withhold his tears, wiping angrily at his face. He really was young, wasn't he?

"You can cry, I won't tell anyone Kuro-sama." The puppet said softly.

"Shudup! I'm not crying." Kurogane snapped.

The puppet merely smiled. In whoosh of white fabric he was before Kurogane, arms draped with long sleeves wrapping around the boy's smaller form. Kurogane straightened as though a bolt of electricity had shot through his body.

"What the hell are you doing?" he demanded.

"The puppet chuckled. "No one can see you now Kuro-rin, so cry. It's only fair, since you saw my tears too." He replied.

Kurogane hesitated. Then, slowly he grasped the puppet's long sleeves in his hands tightly. The tears poured of their own accordance, but Kurogane refused to make a sound. The puppet couldn't help but smile at the top of Kurogane's head.

"Now we're even." He whispered.

Kurogane nodded, squeezing the last of the liquid from his eyes. He left the puppet's embrace quickly, pink tainting his cheeks.

"I have to get back, my uncle will be looking for me… we leave today." he said, avoiding the puppet's face.

The puppet nodded. "Yes the hour has gotten very late." He said.

Kurogane glanced at the puppet. "So what'll you do?" he asked.

The puppet shrugged carelessly, causing Kurogane to frown. The puppet pinched his cheeks promptly, pulling at them.

"Don't make such a face Kuro-tan, you'll get wrinkles!" he squealed.

Kurogane swatted away his hands furiously, feeling his cheeks throb. "Don't treat me like a kid!" he snapped.

The puppet clasped his hands behind his back, smiling slyly. "Being treated like a child isn't a negative thing, if you're too serious life will wear you down! Just look at me! I'm never serious and I have this lovely, silky skin." he boasted.

Kurogane harrumphed, his eyes raking over the puppet's body. "And risk looking like a girl? No thanks." he deadpanned.

The puppet giggled. "But I think Kuro-chan would look so cuu~ute in a dress!" his sang.

Kurogane sent the puppet a death glare, but said nothing. An awkward silence settled over the pair. Kurogane was looking off into the distance, biting his lower lip and shuffling his feet. He appeared to be having an internal struggle of sorts.

"I have to go," he repeated.

The puppet inclined his head. "Indeed."

Kurogane glanced shyly at the puppet. "I don't suppose I'll see your sorry hide again." he said.

The puppet translated the sentence instantly. _Will I see you again?_

The question caused a feeling to bloom in the puppet's chest, a warm, homely feeling. He had never been wanted before, he had been necessary and useful yes, but never wanted. Yet here he was, staring down at a young boy who had done so much in such a short time. He had seen right through the puppet's mask, seen his flaws and cowardice, but he still wanted him.

And the puppet… well he wanted to keep that feeling. He wanted to keep Kurogane.

He bent down to the ground before Kurogane, so close that the fabric of Kurogane's robe brushed against his sweeping sleeves. He leaned forward so that his mouth was inches from Kurogane's ear.

"I know you're not fond of my nicknames Kuro-pan, but you should know names have power." He spoke.

Kurogane stared in surprise at the puppet, his close proximity sending warning bells ringing throughout Kurogane's body.

"So?" he managed.

"So, since you have lots of names already, I'll tell you mine…" the puppet lowered his voice to an almost undetectable level, and whispered a single word.

Then he stood, spinning around so that the white material clinging to his body whirled like a flag.

"We'll see each other again Kuro-pin, it's simply unavoidable!" he chirped.

And with that the puppet skipped away, fading into the camouflage of the trees. He kept going and going without looking back, for if he looked back the puppet doubted he would have the will to really leave.

The last thing Kurogane saw of him, was a wide ark of two madly waving hands like an excited child saying farewell to a friend after playtime.

A tentative hand reached up to touch the ear the puppet had whispered in.

"What a fool." He said.

He stood for a moment, staring and thinking of nothing in particular. Then he left, taking with him everything he owned, his training dummy, his cleaning cloth, his Kanata…

And a single name.

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><p>Like, Hate? Review~!<p> 


	3. Together

/Notes/ And so the caffine filled, sleepless nights payed off in the end. I enjoyed writing this a lot, and I'm sad to see it go. I hope you've all enjoyed the journey as well. Thanks for reading! ^_^

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><p><strong>Oo0oO<strong>

The furnace flared.

Heat pulsed like a heartbeat, smoke choking what little air there was from the dry, dark forge. Kurogane felt the familiar sensation of his muscles aching, of soot clinging to his body like an extra skin. He struck a sheet of metal repeatedly with a heavy hammer, imagining the fine weapon it would soon become. He was the best weapons maker in the entire country, as was expected of the royal blacksmith. Most put it down to his incredible strength and lengthy training, but Kurogane's secret was something entirely different.

He understood the weapons.

He knew how a Kanata worked best with a certain edge or dint in just the right place, he knew that the metal flew through the air best when it was curved and pointed properly. He new more damage could be dealt to an opponent when the Kanata was serrated, but for stealth a shorter, straighter blade was best.

He understood perfectly.

"Kurogane~!"

Kurogane glanced up from his work, placing his work goggles atop his head. He frowned at the young girl at the top of his stairs in disapproval.

"Tomoyo! What did I tell you about coming into the forge?"

Tomoya brushed the question off, happily skipping down the stone steps. Her kimono didn't trouble her in the least, years of walking around in the layered clothing teaching her the best way to place her feet. She had a sly smile upon her lips.

"You said something about the forge?" she asked innocently.

Kurogane placed his hammer on his workbench. "You know I did."

Tomoyo covered her mouth with a delicate hand. "My I must of forgotten, anyway I have something to tell you!"

Kurogane began organizing his things. "Oh, has it got something to do with that neighbouring princess? What's she called… Sazume?"

Tomoyo's eyes sparkled. "It's Sakura, and I'm sure I don't have to tell you how utterly cute she is, ohohoho!"

Kurogane rolled his eyes at her antics.

"Ahem, anyway it's not about my Sakura-chan. You've got a visitor upstairs." She said.

That caught Kurogane's interest. He never had visitors, customers maybe, but they were always messengers from some Lord or Shogun, and _they _usually came down into the forge to place their order. He glanced at Tomoyo, noticing for the first time that excited glint in her eyes.

What was she up to?

"Why doesn't he come down?" Kurogane asked.

"He said he doesn't want to get is clothes dirty," Tomoyo said. "Which isn't surprising, his clothes were gorgeous! What I'd give to get my hands on silk as pure and white as that. " she gushed.

Kurogane grunted. "Sounds like a girl if you ask me."

Tomoyo shook her head. "You just don't understand," she sighed. Then she skipped merrily to the foot of the stairs. "Just go up and greet him, oh and you might want to clean up a bit, just a tip."

Kurogane watched the girl prance up the stairs, his curiosity starting to peak. He glanced down at his work, before deciding to abandon it. He climbed the stairs, ignoring Tomoyo's advice to wash, and opened the door.

His forge was underneath the royal palace, occupying the old prisons used in the Days of Revolt. Kurogane didn't mind, any rumours concerning ghosts or whatnot were poppycock in his mind. A rush of air greeted him as Kurogane emerged from the dark forge, the light momentarily blinding him. Pillars rose all around, towering and white in the afternoon sun. They held a marble roof over Kurogane's head. There were no walls, only the surrounding gardens stretching for miles into the distance.

Kurogane's visitor had his back to Kurogane, admiring the western garden. He wore a long, white coat, light blue and silver spirals decorating the smooth martial. Tuffs of fur trimmed the white silk, looking invitingly cosy. A staff was clutched in his gloved hand, decorated with jewels and trinkets that tinkled in the breeze. His hair was golden, almost glowing.

Kurogane felt his breath hitch, his pulse quicken, he took three steps forward, eyes glued to the figure before him. It was impossible, it couldn't be, after five years!

The visitor heard Kurogane's rushed approach, he turned around slowly to land him with a cheeky, familiar smile.

"Hello, Kuro-pu." He said.

Kurogane stared, helplessly lost in the visitors blue, blue eyes.

"Fai…"

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><p><em>I<em>_ am a puppet…_

_See my fine golden hair?_

_My sculptured face?_

_My porcelain skin so fair?_

_I am a puppet…_

_I should never hurt or cry_

_I should be whatever you wish me_

_But being a puppet, was my one true lie_

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><p>Like, hate? Review~!<p>

Fin~ :3


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